Stefan Tcherepnin finally rid his Berlin support group-exhibitionary nest spreads wings solo in a blair-witch-style cookie-monster theater, a fill of sticks, shadows and monsters, including another Real Fine release expressing neurosis over artistic network, “Echoing [...] a classic about hypocrisy as a function of assimilation and artistic progression into the orders of social spheres, ST shows an ambivalent means for internalizing both productive and sometimes abject and shadowy qualities in the artistic search for representation.”
Like Liden’s filling of Spauling with X-mas trees, stuffing the gallery with an overload of non-communicative content, a gag for identification, artistic and gallery, Tcherepnin’s “content” is a means of delaying of identity, of presenting content that, in its deafness, refuses to settle, Tcherepnin’s hideous stick assemblages and kidstuff appropriations are like an punchless joke not meant to sit well, a long-winded shaggy dog story like the video on view.
See too: Stefan Tcherepnin at Freedman Fitzpatrick, Single Moms at Vilma Gold, Morag Keil at Real Fine Arts.
